


Everyone, Everything I Love Will Be Lost To Me

by idowritingnowiguess



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Child Death, Disjointed, Flashbacks, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mind/Mood Altering Substances, Panic Attacks, Self-Hatred, The feel good story of the century, Title and summary are from the original story if you couldnt tell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-30 07:30:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18311015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idowritingnowiguess/pseuds/idowritingnowiguess
Summary: "All I remember was fire, a bunch of smoke, and Asgore finally pinning the thing down. The rest of us kinda had our hands full trying to rescue the trapped men and dealing with Doctor Crazy.""Oh yeah." You hear another laugh. "That guy. Wasn’t he hiding the human? Thought it was his pet or something, I guess."





	Everyone, Everything I Love Will Be Lost To Me

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Not as Simple as a Happy Ending](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5571245) by [PastelClark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PastelClark/pseuds/PastelClark). 



> Back at it again with whump!
> 
> (These interpretations of Perse and Gaster aren't mine, they're those of the story linked above. This *might* make sense if you haven't read that, but it also might not.)

He didn’t do this. It wasn’t that he wasn’t sad as fuck, he was. But he didn’t do _this,_ didn’t wallow in his own sadness, didn’t fetishize his angst.

He kept moving, he kept going, he didn’t slow down. He didn’t have time to mourn his own damned incompetence, he had work to do. _̶H̶e̶ ̶h̶a̶d̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶s̶a̶v̶e̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶n̶e̶x̶t̶ ̶h̶u̶m̶a̶n̶,̶ ̶f̶o̶r̶ ̶G̶o̶d̶'̶s̶ ̶s̶a̶k̶e̶,̶ ̶h̶e̶ ̶h̶a̶d̶ ̶t̶o̶.̶_

 

But on this day, this one day each year, he allowed himself a pass. And that is how W.D. Gaster found himself shitfaced.

 

Shitfaced, and thinking bad thoughts. He really should have skipped this year, given what had happened so recently.

 

He almost lost Sans.

 

Gaster groaned. _Come on_ , he pleaded, _take it down a notch_ -

But it refused. _You almost lost Sans. You almost lost your -_

 

She would have been 28.

 _Fuck,_ had it really been so long?

He was such an incredibly intelligent child. He would have never seen this coming, not in a million years, not him…

_All the worst parts of you are rubbing off on him._

He had to wake up, he realized with a sickening sense of dread. He just hadn’t wanted to see it, but it was there.

 _He’s going to turn out just like you,_ his mind whispered, and he paled, because there was _nothing_ in the world that scared him more than that notion, not death, not God, not Asgore.

 

He drank on her birthday, because he didn’t trust himself on her deathday.

 

...it just didn’t feel like it had been more than a few years.

 

_You are a shitty fucking monster._

 

_...what are you even doing?_

 

He leaned back. What had he _done_ with his life?

 

What would you do without him?

 

**_He was the only one who understood._ **

 

She would be 28 today.

 

“Happy Birthday, Kiddo.” His voice broke.

He started to cry. Aw, shit. _Stop it, you pathetic bastard._

The sobs were tearing through his body, absolutely overwhelming him in anguish. He just couldn't handle this. This was all just too much.

Toby was so upset. He was barking and whining and scratching at Gasters chest, but it only sent him further into his panic.

He felt like a wild animal was tearing around in his skull, knocking down shelves full of his worst thoughts, running into delicate cabinets that housed his worst fears. And then, in an instant, something flipped a switch that stopped all conscious thought, that overwhelmed him with panic, that filled his mind with -

 

_Fire._

 

_Fire, that raged and burned and razed his world to ashes. Paws that he had once put his life into, holding him back from saving the center of the universe._

 

Crying, crying, crying. Screaming his throat raw. Slamming his head against the plated chest of one of the guards holding him.

 

It does no good, ̶s̶h̶e̶ ̶i̶s̶ ̶a̶l̶r̶e̶a̶d̶y̶ ̶g̶o̶n̶e̶, but he will not stop, because if he stops acting then he will be forced to think, and he cannot think about what has just happened.

 

He slips in and out of consciousness as he is carried to the castle, a combination of the stress and the heat and the blunt force trauma he is inflicting on his own skull.

 

Gaster is dragged through the throne room door on the edge of cognizance, and he therefore does not hear the short, angry dialogue between Asgore and his guards. (Oh my God _, let him go!_ Sir, that’s - **_DO AS I SAY!_ **)

 

But when he looks up, dropped unceremoniously on the floor, he is aware enough to register who he is seeing.

 

The instant he processes who he is looking at, he _hurls_ himself at him. His brain is _screaming_ to destroy him, to kill him, to end him.

 

Gaster is left to act on that impulse for approximately two seconds. He doesn't even reach his target. He _screams_ as he is pulled away, an ear-splitting, wince-inducing sound, and a hand is clamped over his mouth. He kicks his legs like a child throwing a tantrum.

 

Another guard steps in to help. He manages to wrench an arm from restraint for a split second, and for no apparent reason he uses it to drag his sharp nails over the other, scrabbling for purchase on his own skin, before it is pulled away. He screws his eyes shut and screams as hard as he can.

 

“He was like this all the way here,” an exceptionally irritated voice declares, and the King is silent.

 

But as suddenly as if a switch were flipped, Gaster goes limp, struggling for any longer having become a physical impossibility.

 

Every guard in the room breathes a sigh of relief, spare one. He is dropped to the floor, dragged to the side, and handcuffed in record time.

 

It is then that he realizes the full extent of what has happened and, the loss overtaking him, begins to cry.

 

The tall, blue-haired woman at the King’s side clasps a hand over her mouth and receives a quick permission to leave the scene.

 

The Doctor’s sobs echo throughout the small space, and for a fair few moments, they are the only sound. He is hunched over, his face buried in his coat like a frightened child, so that he does not have to look at the present company. He is shaking violently.

 

New guards come through the door, and the room's attention is redirected, but Gaster pays them no mind.

 

The time for cohesive thought, for _“she was crying for_ **_you_ ** _to help her,”_ for _“you were like a_ **_brother_ ** _once, how could you do this”_ for _“you_ **_can't_ ** _let this happen again,”_ is later.

 

Now is the time for unbridled, unthinking, uncontained grief. Animalistic cries and body-bending sobs and a total disregard of consequence is what this is the time for.

 

Because _his little girl is gone, and he will never see her again._

 

And then.

 

“Sire, we found this in the rubble.”

 

And then - “oh!”

 

And then W. D. Gaster, a man whose reality has crumbled to pieces, looks up and sees a very familiar furry face, and stops crying to draw in a strangled gasp.

 

“Goodness! Give him here.”

 

 **_“HE'S NOT YOURS!”_ **And as the entire room startles, a small white dog turns his head with a snap and begins to struggle in the King's arms furiously. The King lets him go, out of fear he will fall, and Toby bounds across the room to his master, jumps up between his bound arms, and begins to lick his face.

 

And the world is still so, so wrong, and nothing will ever be okay again, but there is one precious piece that is right, and Gaster sobs in relief.

 

They had to drag him to his cell. He fought like hell for no other reason than to annoy.

He didn’t know what they were going to do with him. Nobody had ever done this before.

His head throbs and his throat feels like sandpaper.

Heavy footsteps serve as a warning, and a tall figure steps through the doorway. Gaster’s heart quickens, and he feels as if he is going to faint. “Hey douchebag.”

The guardswoman at Asgore’s side raised her spear and growled.

“I thought I ordered a healer here?”

“He refused the healer, sir.”

Asgore sighed. “Please return to your post.” She cast Gaster a glare before leaving.

There was a beat of silence. “I have a list of your charges, if you’d like to read it.”

“Oh, yeah, give that here.” Asgore passed it through the bars. “Hmm, yes, very interesting.” He crumpled it into a ball and threw it at Asgore’s face.

It hit perfectly and bounced onto the floor. Gaster laughed. “I don’t think you understand how much trouble you are in,” the king said gravely.

“Yeah, guess I should have read that list, huh?”

“Harboring a fugitive. Treason. Assaulting a royal guard. Resisting arrest. Assaulting the king. They wanted to charge you for attempted regicide, but I argued they could not assume you wished to kill me.”

“Oh, I do and I will.”

He continued angrily. “They are also debating whether to charge you for manslaughter, _because three guards died in the fire_.”

Gaster attempts to say something, but chokes, and his eyes widen.

 

He… he had forgotten.

 

He had tried to say her name.

 

_Oh, God._

 

Asgore must mistake his shock as being in reaction to the news he has just delivered, because he seems satisfied with it. “WingDings, I want to help you.”

 

“Go to hell,” he spits back.

 

“Humans are dangerous, friend, please.” The foolish bastard prattles on and on.

 

He raises his head sinisterly and speaks with a raspy voice. “Have you not thought of your child at all?”

 

 _“_ What _-_ humans _killed_ my child, WingDings! _”_

 

“ _I wasn’t talking about Asriel_.” And he never liked that kid, but he is suddenly grateful to them, because their memory is the weapon with which he causes a look of utter pain to flash across Asgore’s face.

 

“Dickweed,” Gaster laughs.

 

“I - there -” His voice is breaking, as if he is about to cry. Gaster takes immense satisfaction in watching him flounder. “Chara -”

 

“You’re a fucking idiot. Fuck you. Fuck everything to do with you. You’re a lonely bastard who’s too cowardly to admit when he’s wrong. Toriel would be so goddamn proud of me.”

 

Asgore looks close to tears. Gaster is too. “ **_Get out of here_ **,” he orders Asgore, as if he is the one with any power in this situation.

 

“WingDings -”

 

“ _I never want to hear that name again_ .” His voice is trembling with rage. “ _Especially not from you_.”

 

And the hero of the Underground, savior of all, king of monsters, slinks from the room like a scolded dog.

  
  


In the present, Gaster gently opened the door.

 

Sans rolled over sleepily. “Whozzat?” he slurred.

“It's just me, ki-” he swallowed. “Sans.”

The boy mumbled something indecipherable. He sat down on the edge of the bed and hesitantly laid a hand on the sleeping form.

“Hmm?”

_Just making sure you're still with me._

Gaster hesitated. “This… this is a safe space for you. You know that, right?”

He couldn't bring himself to say, “I'll keep you safe.”

“Mm-hmm.” He doubted the boy was even listening to him.

“I don't have the best track record with this sort of thing, kid,” he whispered painfully.

There was Wind, of course. But Wind had not been a child.

Sans said nothing. “Hey, kid, you awake?”

No response. The scientist smiled tiredly. _At least he's got a safe place to sleep_.

 

This was all just too much.

 

But, Gaster reassured himself, it would be over soon.

The one thing keeping him going - his promise that one day the coward king would be dust, and Wind would be the face of the crown.

And when that day came,

 

he could finally disappear.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a fangirl who keeps making content and Clark is probably weirded out
> 
> _If you want to get in touch, that's perfectly welcome, and you can find me on Tumblr[here](http://unreasonable-keysmash.tumblr.com) or [here](http://idowritingnowiguess.tumblr.com)._


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